


More Full of Weeping

by mpatientdreamr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Description of an Asthma Attack, Discussion of Spousal Abuse, Gen, discussion of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1317115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mpatientdreamr/pseuds/mpatientdreamr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott's running towards his only hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Full of Weeping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Belewitts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belewitts/gifts).



> This fic is a part of the Teen Wolf Reverse Bang, based on Prompt #3006 by bethskink of livejournal.
> 
> Many thanks to my wonderful beta, jessa_anna, for going above and beyond, even when real life was trying to eat her.

Dinner was quiet. Dinner was almost always quiet these days, since they'd moved to San Diego, just before Mom left. Scott hated the quiet almost as much as he hated his father.

“So, it's your birthday soon,” his dad said, startling him into jabbing his plate with his fork. Dad's smile froze, hardening his face, but there was no withering comment about how he got his grace from his mother. His voice was wooden as he asked, “Any idea what you want?”

Scott took a deep breath and looked his father in the eye. “I want to talk to Mom. Just one phone call.”

“You can't,” Dad said, vicious joy in his eyes. “It is literally against the law for your mother to have any contact with you.”

“Because you lied!” Scott yelled, hands balled into fists in his lap. “She never touched me.”

At his father's blank face, Scott remembered his mother’s whispered, pleading, “ _Please, baby. Don't make your father angry._ ”

“Go to your room,” his father said softly, forcing his hands to lie flat against the table.

Scott jumped up and ran, courage fleeing him. He slammed the door behind himself and crawled under his bed, heart pounding. Moments later, he heard the deadbolt shut from the outside and drew in a ragged breath. That was okay. He didn't care to go outside as long as his father didn't come in.

*** ***  
He woke up the next morning, momentarily confused about why he was under the bed until last night's events caught up with him, and he had to breathe deep not to panic.

Finally, courage restored, he slid out from under the bed and stretched. It was a new day. Today would be better. It was a mantra he'd been repeating for nearly a year.

He winced as his bladder twinged, glanced at the clock, and decided that his father was probably at work, so it was safe to leave his room. He turned the handle and his panic returned because the door wouldn't budge.

He had to _go_ , and he hadn't eaten much dinner last night, so he was _hungry_ and...his breathing hitched as his panic grew and the familiar tightness in his chest made his eyes widen. He stumbled to his bedside table, yanking open the drawer, and dug desperately through it, searching for his inhaler as he wheezed for breath.

Finally, his hand closed around the inhaler as black spots started to dance in front of his eyes. He drug in enough breath to get the medicine into his lungs, then again and again until he slumped onto the bed, limp and exhausted, but breathing fine.

He lay there, contemplating his options. He could stick it out and hope that things got better. His father had already, one by one, taken away anything that gave him joy and was now locking him in his room. It wouldn't be long before he started suffering in the same ways his mother had. Or he could try to run and find his mom.

Scott's hand clenched around his inhaler, and he knew, deep in his bones, that anywhere was better than here. His mom had been trying, before Things happened, to plan a way out. She wouldn't have gone to the trouble of preparing him if she thought there was any hope in staying with his father.

He sighed and heaved himself upright, then staggered to the window to look down at the drive. His dad's car was gone, filling him with relief. He was going to have to wait to use the bathroom, but there were some things that were worse than a full bladder. Then he made his way over to the corner where he wearily stood, staring at the mostly empty bookcase. Mostly empty or not, it was still going to be heavy. 

He mustered his energy and began unloading the Encyclopedia Britannica from nine years ago off the shelf, setting them neatly to the side. He gently flipped the bookcase over onto its front and used an ink pen and the sharp corner of a ruler to pry staples out of the back. He flung the back up onto the bed and pulled a packet out of the false bottom. He closed his eyes and pressed his face into it, but it just smelled like ply wood and stale paint. Nothing of his mother lingered. Scott sighed and let himself be disappointed for a moment before he scrambled to his feet, pausing for a quick glance out the window to check that his father's car was still gone. Likely, he'd be gone all day, but Scott was still nervous.

He emptied his school things out of his backpack and stuffed clothes and the few necessities he had in his room, including 3 inhalers and the only picture of his mom he'd managed to hide from his father, into it. He opened the packet and spread the contents out on the floor. A map, a list of addresses, IDs that his mom had gotten from somewhere, and a small bundle of cash that might be enough for a couple of meals and a bus ticket to the nearest address on his mom's list. He quickly stuffed everything back into the packet and shoved it into his backpack.

He strapped the backpack as tightly to him as he could and took a deep breath before sliding his window up and hooking the emergency ladder his father had put in his room in case of fire, so it dangled out the window. His hands shook as he looked down at the ground, but he'd gone this far. There was no backing out now.

He grabbed the seal of window and swung himself over, fitting his feet to the ladder and, trying not to think about how far it was down to the ground, lowered himself one rung at a time. He panicked when his foot found only air and looked down only to find the ground only a few feet below him. He calmed himself and let go, landing on his feet.

Then he ran, as hard and fast as he could without tripping over into an asthma attack. He was careful crossing streets, and he didn't slow down until he'd covered three blocks and made it into the part of town where his dad couldn't go without being noticed. He dodged into the corner bodega that had been his mother's favorite for the brief time she'd lived in San Diego with them. The old woman behind the register's smile froze when she looked up at the jingle of the bell on the door and saw him standing there, panting, with a heavy backpack strapped to his back.

“In the back,” she said in heavily accented English, hurriedly waving him into the back room when she got over her shock. 

Scott ran for the back room, ducking under a stock boy's loaded arms and into a corner that was partially hidden by a stack of boxes.

There was a distant murmur of voices, then the swish of the swinging door, and, “Scott? Querido?”

Scott peeped up over the boxes and Mrs. Vega's face relaxed. She held out her hand to him, motioning for him to take it and follow her. 

He went to her cautiously and took her hand, allowing her to tuck him into her side and draw him along until they'd gone into an office, and she locked the door behind her.

She nudged him into a chair and squatted in front of him. “Why aren't you with your Mama?”

“He made her leave,” he said, swaying into the warmth of her as he tried to bite back tears. “And I need to find her because-- I just need to find her.”

“Do you know where she went?” she asked, brushing his hair out of his face.

He shrugged. “I've got a list of addresses.” He perked up. “Maybe you could take me? I have some money.”

Mrs. Vega sighed, shaking her head. “I cannot afford to leave the bodega for so long or the trouble that that taking you would bring to mi familia.”

“Okay,” he said, chin wobbling. He scrubbed his hands over his face to wipe away tears and took a moment collect himself. He understood that he was putting her in a difficult position. His father was a federal agent, after all. “Okay. But I still need to get away. I can't go back, and I think I have enough money for a bus ticket.”

She looked at him sadly, petting his cheeks. “Alright. If I cannot convince you to go back, then I will at least help you go forward. But only so long as you promise that there will be someone to pick you up when you get where you are going.”

He fumbled through his backpack, then thrust the neat list of addresses at her. “I know where I need to go.”

Mrs. Vega ran a finger over the list before moving to the ancient computer, inputting addresses into Google. “This one,” she said, tapping an address. “This one is farthest away. That will be best.”

“I only have this much money,” he whispered, handing her the stack of money. “And I'm going to need food and stuff. I couldn't...get to the kitchen this morning.”

He didn't know why he was whispering. It just felt important that he be quiet.

She pursed her lips as she started to count the bills. “We will get you where you need to be. And I will make certain you have food, querido.; no worries there.” She studied him keenly, then pointed at a door behind him. “Bathroom's through there.”

He bolted for the toilet, glad to have one less thing to worry about, even something so insignificant. He also thanked his mother's way of endearing herself to others or he'd probably still be trying to figure out how to get away from his dad.

When he came back out, Mrs. Vega was having a whispered conversation with a guy in his twenties. Old enough not to need permission for every little thing , but young enough to heed his abuelita's words. 

Mrs. Vega noticed him hovering in the doorway clutching his backpack and nudged the guy to step closer to him. “Scott, this is my grandson, Manuel. He'll take you to the bus station, get you a ticket, and put you on the bus.” She handed Scott a brown sack that crinkled when he clutched it to him and a couple of folded up twenties. “When you get to this place, you give this money to a cabbie and have them take you to the address your mother wrote down, okay?”

“Okay, Mrs. Vega,” he said, running his arm under his nose when his chin tried to wobble, sniffling. “Thank you.”

Her face softened and she petted his face. “Ahh, querido. Your mama, she helped mi esposo when we couldn't afford to pay her. Now, I repay her by sending you back to her.” He hugged her around the waist as she patted his head. “Go with Manuel. He'll see you to the bus.”

Scott followed after Manuel, who seemed put out about having to put up with such a young kid, and let hope rise. Maybe as soon as the end of the day, he was going to see his mom again.

Manuel didn't talk to him all the way to the bus station, at the bus station, or as they waited for the bus, but he put a hand on Scott's shoulder when the bus pulled up and scowled at the driver that was eying them distrustfully. 

“He's gonna catch a cab to relatives' place once you drop him off,” Manuel said, squeezing Scott's shoulder before nudging him up the steps. Scott glanced back and Manuel nodded at him. “Luck, little man.”

Scott swallowed and nodded back before he turned and handed the driver his ticket. The driver loosened up enough to smile at him as he waved him back into his seat. 

Scott spent the bus ride idly thinking about his mom and their upcoming reunion. He startled when the bus slowed to a stop, and he looked up to see a tiny sign welcoming them to the Beacon Hills bus station. He grabbed his backpack and shuffled down the aisle.

The driver stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Do you need somebody to wait with you?”

“No sir,” Scott said, sidling sideways. “I'll ask somebody at the desk to call a cab. I'll be fine. Thank you for asking.”

The driver pursed his lips but nodded, letting his arm fall. “Okay, kid. Go on.”

Scott hurried down the stairs and into the station. He bounced up to the front desk and asked, smiling, “Do you guys have cabs available?”

The kid behind the counter looked supremely unimpressed as he said, “Kid, this is a small town. We don't have cabs here.”

“Oh,” Scott said, deflating.

“Look,” Derek, the kid's name tag read, said, “I get off in ten minutes. If wherever you're going isn't too far, I'll take you.”

“Oh,” Scott said, eying him suspiciously. His mom and dad had both warned him about perverts.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Or you can wait until somebody misses you and comes looking for you.”

Scott's heart stopped and Derek was suddenly watching him avidly. “No,” he blurted, biting back a wince. “No, you can take me.” He shoved the piece of paper Mrs. Vega had carefully written the address on, the original copy safely tucked in his bag. “I need to go here. I think my mom might be there.”

Derek's eyebrows went up as he read the address, jerked a bit, then he stiffly nodded to a chair in the corner. “It's not out of my way. I can take you.”

Scott settled in the corner and waited for Derek's shift to end, letting his feet swing and his head rest back against the wall. He was _so close_ , he could almost taste it.

“Hey, kid,” Derek called and he jerked upright to see him jingling his keys at him. “Let's go.”

“My name's Scott,” he said, gathering up his bag with a frown. 

Derek's eyebrows did another little wiggle as he said, “I see. Well, _Scott_ , let's go.”

Derek's car was _awesome_ , which kind of sucked because Derek seemed to kind of be a butt. But still. Black and sleek and shiny, the car was amazing and Derek didn't even fuss when Scott started twiddling with buttons just to see what they did. He just sighed and concentrated on the road. The road that was rapidly leading them into the forest, which Scott finally noticed when he'd rolled the window all the down to let the wind whip around the car.

“I thought you said it wasn't far,” Scott said, eying the door handle. 

“I said it wasn't out of my way,” Derek corrected, rolling his eyes. “I'm not taking you out to the woods to eat you, kid. I'm taking you where you asked to go.”

“Scott, not kid,” he said belligerently but relaxed into his seat.

“Right. _Scott_ ,” Derek said softly and just a bit weirdly. 

They turned up a long stretch of drive that was bracketed by tall trees before he could make anything of it, and Scott held his breath as a huge house came into view.

Derek turned the car off, swung his door open, and said, “Come on, Scott. This is the address.”

Derek led him up the front steps and knocked on the door, a hand on his shoulder. Scott was really wishing everyone would stop touching him all the time but he didn't fuss.

“Derek?” The woman who opened the door wiping her hands on a dishtowel was tall and confused, and so he _knew_ her.

“This is _Scott_ ,” Derek said, nudging him forward.

She cradled his jaw, and sighed. “You look just like your mother.”

His breathing hitched as he remembered where he knew her from and he asked, “Is she here? Can I see her?”

“No, baby,” she said, and this was the godmother he remembered from before things got bad, Talia Hale, college best friend of his mom's. He wondered if the other addresses would have to taken him to other old college friends. “She's not here.”

“Where is she?” he asked, letting his tears fall as his hopes were dashed.

“I don't know,” she said, taking him by the shoulders and she seemed to become more solid, more stable, more _important_ as he watched. “But we'll find her. Okay?”

He nodded, relaxing as she pulled him into a tight hug. Everything was going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in a series, so if it feels like a jumping off place, it is.


End file.
